


Let's Go Far Away

by thejigsawtimess



Category: Gay Pirates (song)
Genre: Gang Rape, Homophobia, M/M, Pirates, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/thejigsawtimess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life aboard The Scarlet Dagger is rough, and really a seventeen year old kid who looks like he'd blow overboard in a strong wind should know better than to climb aboard. Even if he does have possibly the bluest fuckin eyes in the entire seven seas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was lurking incomplete on my LJ account for some time, so I decided to post it here. I should be updating regularly, maybe even every day as that's what I usually aim for.  
> Not sure if I'll get any kind of response, this is a difficult 'fandom' to get fic out there for, but hopefully if you find it you like it.  
> Just reminding you of the warnings - I stick pretty close to Cosmo's words, so we'll be dealing with rough issues, but a beautiful story too, bless Mr Jarvis for writing this. 
> 
> Oh and if by any chance you haven't watched the video/song (you are slightly insane) but here you go:  
> youtube.com/watch?v=dysG12QCdTA&list=FLcp6OSZPR6ucHWnBCTSmHtQ&index=23
> 
> Anyway, love to hear what you think, and enjoy!

**27 th October 1781**

Tired. So damned tired. This ship is run by fucking sadists I swear to God, if I have to tug one more rope I’m pretty sure my arms are going to fall off. I should be asleep right now, I have to get up again in about four hours, but the crew are restless tonight; they’re welcoming the new kid. ‘Welcoming’ – ha. Poor guy, we’ve all been there, and for the first few weeks aboard The Scarlet Dagger, it’s like a form of hell tailored to suit you specifically. Even as I lie here in my bunk, their loud, incessant chanting fills the air. They’ve made up a new rhyme for the new guy,  _‘…with a hook for a nose, like a gull’s beak it grows...’_ I can’t see his face from my position, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the kid was crying already. He looked such a slip of a thing when he clambered aboard yesterday.

I don’t believe it! The chanting has come to an abrupt halt- just moments ago, the same young lad who I’d been calling such a puny, likely-cry-baby, stood up and took a swing at old Morgan! Easily twice his height and weight, too! I saw the whole thing; couldn’t believe my own eyes. The look of pure  _disgust_  on the kid’s face! Well, I’m eating my words, the kid’s alright actually, God I hate that Morgan. He needed a good right hook to the face. Course the kid’s been taken off by the rest of the crew now, dragged up on deck and dangled overboard probably. Hope they don’t throw him off. I’d like to talk to him. Morgan’s still groaning on the floor, clutching his bleeding nose. Ha! Maybe he’ll shut up for a while now. Might be able to get some fucking sleep before dawn. Wish I could remember the kid’s name.

Sebastian, I think. Yeah, Sebastian.

**28 th October 1781**

Another day of pure, unrelenting agony. I’ve scrubbed so many planks on that bloody deck that my fingernails are starting to crack off. Had a bit of trouble with the mast today, it was Jefferson’s fault, he didn’t wait for the signal when we were raising the sail, so now the mast is cracked on one side. The captain came out and saw, I half thought Jefferson would be for the plank, but he just got a whipping instead. Eight lashes to the back from the Captain himself. The crime doesn’t seem worth the punishment if you ask me. But that’s the kind of talk that could get you thrown overboard for plans of mutiny. Though I bet if you slapped Jefferson on the back he would agree with me. We managed to patch up the crack as best we could, but it’s not ideal, we’ll have to fix it properly next time we dock.

Made sure to speak a bit with that Sebastian kid, the new guy, tell him (quietly of course; can’t risk Morgan overhearing, and knowing him he’d be lurking around in the shadows, looking for people to snitch on) how brilliant that punch was last night. Can’t stop thinking about it! It was beautiful, there they all were, merrily screeching their way through the steady stream of abuse directed at the lad, and then BAM! He was up, over to Morgan and sending him flying in no more than three seconds. Perfection, that is. Anyway, the kid was awful shy, even blushed a bit when I said I thought his punch was fucking amazing. But he’s alright, really, just a bit timid. No idea how he’s gonna survive The Dagger. This is no place to shy away. Poor kid.

**29 th October 1781**

Got put on the night shift with Sebastian. I fucking hate the night shift – it’s freezing cold, fuck all happens, and you’re usually so tired that even if an iceberg was headed straight for us, you’d barely make a sound. But actually, tonight… I guess it wasn’t as bad as usual. Sebastian’s actually quite a laugh. We had shit all to do, so we just sort of sat up on the deck near the prow and talked a bit. I had a flask of whiskey left from last time we docked, so we were drinking that to keep the cold at bay. It would have been almost nice, if it weren’t so bloody cold.

He told me he ran away from his poverty ridden family at thirteen after his parents were killed by thieves, leaving his siblings to fend for themselves but always planning to return and rescue them one day. He hitched a ride to the nearest city and got a job in a butcher’s, delivering meat to the townsfolk and being roughed up and getting all kinds of abused by the drunken owner for four years until finally, he escaped, moved towns and met the Captain in a tavern down by the bay. It had taken some pleading apparently, due to the kid’s obvious lack of strength and muscle, but eventually he had been hired.

“All I needed to do to convince ‘im was throw a couple o’ punches at the guy on the stool next to ‘im.” Sebastian told me, a quiet chuckle spilling in between his words as he brought the flask to his nearly blue lips. “That nasty butcher may have wasted a good few years of my life, and sure I’ve got some scars that’ll never heal cause of it, but at least I know how to dodge a blow comin’ at me, and throw one myself, hard enough to knock a fella’ out as long as he’s caught off guard.” He smiled at me then, wincing a bit as he gulped down the whiskey burning his throat. I took the flask back from him and stared up at the starry sky. I didn’t know what to say really, if I’m honest. The kid had seen more shit in his seventeen short years than I’d seen in all my life.

It surprised me when he told me his age. Course he told me differently at first, swore blind he was twenty five, but I’m not an idgit, and as soon as the whiskey came out his tongue loosened up. Only four years between us. Strange that. Guess I shouldn’t call him kid really, especially after hearing what he’s been through.

Poor guy. It’s nice to just talk to someone. I mean really talk, not just mess around and joke with the other guys. Somehow I think I could even get used to doing the night shift as long as he’s around.

**30 th October 1781**

Another night shift.

I was with Seb again; the only consolation. He managed to sneak up his blanket from the crew quarters under his coat – he’s such a weed that nobody would suspect it wasn’t all actually him under there. So at least this time we were able to drape something over our shaking knees and huddle together a bit. For the warmth.

He apologised to me for rambling about his life yesterday, which I found hilarious because it was the first interesting thing I’d heard since climbing aboard this fucking ship four years ago, and he was  _apologising._ I told him not to be an idgit and to pass the whiskey back. I’d had to top up the flask with a bit of Morgan’s secret stash while he was eating breakfast. It was probably the riskiest thing I’d done for years, if Morgan had caught me he would have told the Captain for sure. But I didn’t want to face the cold without any liquor. Plus, Seb is that much sweeter when he’s had a bit to drink. Well, he’s just more relaxed, that’s what I mean to say. No inhibitions and all that.

He demanded that I tell him my story, so I did. I lived with my dad, the fishmonger, until I was fifteen, helped him out with business from as long as I can remember. It was hard, smelly work, and dealing with the drunken fisherman that we bought from meant I’d grown up with a tough, fierce attitude. One day, I got talking to a guy, he told me about working on a ship, being a pirate, made it all sound so exciting. That guy was Smith, the Captain’s right hand man. I was practically frothing at the mouth with my eagerness to join, so I was hauled up on board The Scarlet Dagger that same day and I haven’t seen my dad since. God knows what he thinks happened to me, or if he even cares.

Seb remained silent while I talked, running his fingers over his mouth thoughtfully and staring off into the distance. Once I’d stopped, he turned to look at me and smiled sadly, like he understood, as if we were the same, as if he hadn’t had it so much worse. Tears pricked at my eyes as I took in his young face, all traces of innocence marred by the experiences he’d been dragged through. His right eye was still faintly bruised from where the crew had obviously gotten their payback on him for that punch he threw at Morgan. I took a gulp of whiskey and turned away before he could see.

**31 st October 1781**

All Hallow’s Eve. Can’t really imagine anything more terrifying than what actually happened tonight, so I guess it’s fitting.

Another night shift. Should have seen it coming. I was complaining about it all day to Sebastian as we mopped the deck, and I just  _know_ Morgan overheard me and went to talk to Smith about keeping me and Seb on the rota an extra night. Bastard.

It started out fine, same as normal - me and Seb huddled up on deck under the blanket after doing the rounds and checking that the only other thing in that empty expanse of sea and sky beyond the ship’s railings was the horizon.

We joked around for a while, shared stories and anecdotes, sang ditties we both knew loudly over the roar of the wind. Seb asked me if I was ever planning on leaving The Dagger. I told him I hadn’t thought about it, but of course I had – everyone thinks about it. Everyone thinks about running away and living a quiet, peaceful life, free of threats of mutiny and beatings and being thrown overboard. And him, being the insightful little bugger he is, saw straight through that lie with his big, blue fucking doe eyes. I tried to stare him down, but he was having none of it, a little smirk on his chapped lips when he saw the flicker of discomfort at the scrutiny flash over my face.

“Fine!” I cried eventually, breaking the intense stare. “Yeah, I think about it. I think about it a lot actually. I have this… this dream, I guess… oh fuck off this is stupid.” I said, tipping far too much whiskey into my mouth.

“No it ain’t! Everyone thinks about gettin’ away. I think about it too.” Seb assured me, rolling his eyes at my dismissal of the imminent confession. He snatched the flask away with the speed of a cobra, taking my alcohol-stained reactions by surprise. I looked at him as he gulped down the vile stuff, eyes screwed shut as if that would block out the taste as well as the sight, his neck muscles pumping slowly up and down, like the blades of a rudder.

“Fine,” I choked out, purposefully looking away, but unable to stop my gaze from flicking back to his face eventually, “sometimes I think about going to this… island, I don’t know. It’s stupid, I know it is.” He was looking at me expectantly, one eyebrow raised slightly, urging me on. I sighed, letting my reluctance seep away and be carried off by the sea breeze. Turning to stare resolutely down the length of the ship, I continued.

“Once, about two years ago, this guy Clarke, he was the navigator, he steered us wrong and we ended up at this deserted island way out in the middle of Christ knows where, somewhere in the Caribbean I think… and it was annoying obviously, cause we were so tired and hungry and just wanted to get off the fucking boat, but all I could think of when I looked at that island was how badly I wanted to stay. I’d get a ship – steal one obviously – load her up with provisions, and sail her out to that place, in the midst of nowhere, just me. I could stay there forever, no one would find me, probably. Not till I was long gone, anyway.”

It’s easy to go off on a tangent when you’re with Seb, okay? He’s a very attentive listener. It’s almost creepy how he hangs on my every word like that. I started to feel self-conscious with his eyes boring into the side of my head, so I turned to look at him hesitantly, bracing myself for the laughter that was sure to follow.

He was just looking at me, his big eyes dancing across my face as though they couldn’t decide where to land. I opened my mouth a bit because I started to find it difficult to breathe. Silvery strands of steam poured into the space between us every time I exhaled. At length he whispered, “Can I come with you?”

I wish I could tell you what was running through my mind in the next few moments I really do. Now, lying in my hammock, I feel nauseous every time I think about it. A wall slams down in my mind when I remember the slow, faint smile that I gave him in response to that question. I hear actual, physical shouts of anger and disgust whenever I try to reimagine the moment that I leaned forwards and pressed my icy lips against his, both of us trembling with cold and… something else. In my mind black holes erupt across the memory of his gentle, strangely warm lips against mine, like cigarette burns slowly consuming the image. He drew backwards quickly enough, and I cursed under my breath and grabbed the whiskey flask, cursing again to find it was empty. I muttered something about the liquor making me do strange things, and under the blanket I felt him slide his rope-chafed hand over mine.

After a long time, I risked another glance at him, and saw a smile still playing on his far-too-young features, a tiny glint in his cerulean eyes. He met my gaze, his smile growing broader, as if daring me to look away. I stared on. Then, slowly, he lowered his head down onto my shoulder, his soft brown curls tickling at my neck. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I assume he fell asleep, because that’s how we stayed until Morgan rang the bell signalling the change of shifts.

**1 st November 1781**

God, they are really taking the piss now. Sometimes I feel like flinging myself overboard rather than hauling myself out of that fucking hammock every day. I got two hours sleep last night thanks to being up all night, and it looks like I’m not gonna be doing much better tonight either.

I still didn’t know what to think about everything that happened last night when I woke up this morning. I purposefully didn’t look over to Sebastian’s bunk across the room when the morning bell rang. I’d run off to my bunk terrified when the bell went last night, jumping up so fast that poor Seb went flying to the floor, having been resting so peacefully on my shoulder.

I was the first one up on deck, deciding to skip breakfast, not that I would have missed much anyway – porridge if we’re lucky – and started the endless monotony of mopping. At least mopping was something I knew I could handle.

But they all came up on deck eventually, rowdy and restless, some still drunk from the night before. I couldn’t help but grimace and want to get as far away from them all as possible. I guess I should’ve known that I wouldn’t be the only one who felt that way.

I was scrubbing the wooden railings with a vigour that betrayed my tension and unease when Sebastian came up beside me, making me start. He started chuckling quietly at my expression – I guess it must have been pretty funny, I probably looked fucking terrified at the sight of him. And it’s  _Seb,_ that scrawny little idgit can barely stammer out two words to anyone but me.

It took me a moment and then I was laughing too, and I whacked him with the cloth in my hand. In retaliation he pushed his filthy scrubbing brush into my face, so, abandoning our posts, we had a mini war, and I wrapped my arm around his neck, getting him in a headlock, both of us giggling like children.

We didn’t see the figure watching us until it was too late, his voice booming out into the air around us, over the rushing swell of the waves hitting the side of the boat. Smith.

“Oi! You fucking filthy dogs, cut that out!” We sprang apart, the colour draining from our faces. Smith charged over to Sebastian; my stomach dropped. “What’s yer name, boy?!”

“S-Sebastian.”

“Oh, aye! The new kid, right?” Smith leaned right in to Sebastian’s face, close enough that the hairs of his greying beard prickled the kid’s face. Sebastian managed a nod, gulping. Smith sneered and leaned back a couple of inches, then tilted his head down and spat, landing the gob on Sebastian’s shoes. “You’d be wise to stay out of trouble, lad. Messin’ around with feller’s don’t make you look too good in the eyes of the rest o’ the crew.”

With that, he stepped back, finally, and with a lingering glance filled with venom aimed in my direction, he retreated. Me and Seb began scrubbing in silence.

It was another night shift tonight. This time I’m a hundred percent certain Morgan’s the culprit. There’s no way this would have happened of Smith’s own accord unless it was already pre-planned. Not after what happened today.

I didn’t sit with Seb at the prow today, even though I know he was there. Instead I patrolled around, looking for imaginary signs of danger on the flat, silent waters stretching around us. It was too quiet though. I felt like I could hear him breathe even over the sound of the wind and the waves.

It didn’t take long before he came to look for me, the blanket draped around his shoulders like a toddler. I was leaning against the railings on the port side, staring out into the sea. He came up behind me and stood for a while, maybe waiting for me to turn around, acknowledge his presence. After a while, with a sigh, I felt him place the blanket round me and come to lean on the railing beside me. I looked down at him with reluctance, fighting the urge but failing. He was shivering uncontrollably but evidently trying to hide it from me, even clenching his jaw so that his teeth wouldn’t chatter. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Where’s your coat?” I asked. He didn’t look up, but I thought I saw his mouth twitch.

“Left it d-downstairs. Shit.” He laughed at himself for stuttering, bowing his head as if hiding from the shame.

At the time, it seemed like the only realistic solution. This kid, he’s seventeen, no family, no friends, a lifetime of memories he’d surely rather forget, aboard a fucking pirate ship of all places, with  _me -_ a pessimistic, permanently annoyed, narcissist that fucking  _kissed him_ last night. And all of this with no coat. He, of all people, does not deserve to be the one out of the two of us that has it worse in any situation. So, without a word, I inched a bit towards him, slipped my arm around his shoulders and pulled the blanket around us both, so we were cocooned in our embrace.

It’s almost scary how quickly he relaxed into me. It’s definitely scary how quickly I relaxed into him, my hands sweeping caresses over his back of their own accord, my fingers reaching up to tangle themselves in his hair.

He made a sound, like a contented sigh, and I knew what it meant, instantly. Turning my gaze back to the unchanged, silent waters, I pressed my lips to the top of his head. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew are catching on, and our heroes are getting a taste of the truly harsh side of the pirate life. Can they find salvation in each other?

**2 nd November 1781**

No nightshift tonight. Might actually be able to get a good night’s sleep. Couldn’t stop stealing glances at Seb as we scrubbed the decks today. I feel weird, you know? Like everything’s about to change forever.

Whenever he caught my eye he smiled.

**3 rd November 1781**

I think Smith has been talking to the Captain about the crew’s working arrangements; and about me and Seb in particular. We’ve been assigned endless tasks at opposite ends of the ship – and not the normal stuff either - backbreaking labour that ensures we are not distracted.

It’s a sucky arrangement, but I’ll grin and bear it cause I don’t like the way Smith is looking at Seb. Like the kid’s a fish and he’s a fucking gull.

**4 th November 1781**

Me and Seb managed to sneak down below deck around midday while Smith and the rest of the crew were distracted with some ominous looking weather. Despite us seeing each other every day, I can’t believe how much I’d missed him – just being able to talk to him, to be myself around him. The moment I was sure we were alone, I couldn’t help myself, I practically fell on him, near squeezed the life out of him, poor kid. I don’t think he minded though, if him fisting his hands into the cloth of my shirt and tugging me down for a kiss is anything to go by.

The kid’s like a fucking drug, I don’t know what to do with myself. I could feel his heart racing because we knew we had so little time, and that was the only thing that kept me grounded. If the threat of someone walking in and sprinting off to tell the captain wasn’t looming over our heads, God knows what I would’ve done to him.

I let him go eventually, reluctantly, missing the warm, salty taste of him the second it was gone. I forced myself to ignore it when I pushed him back a little and he made a tiny, desperate noise. I went to sit on one of the guy’s bunks. After a moment he collected himself and came to sit next to me.

“You okay, babe?” I asked quietly, not looking him in the eye, but unable to stop myself from resting my fingers on his knee. He wasted no time, sliding his own hand over mine and turning it palm-upwards so that our fingers could lace together.

“Yeah.” He turned to look at me. I could feel his stare, insistent and far too happy, boring into the side of my face, melting my every insecurity.

I looked up at him, trying to give him a warning stare, trying to tell him with my eyes that we should stop now, while we still can.

Useless of course. His great fucking doe eyes, staring back – how is my novice heart supposed to stay contained within its ribcage? Sighing, I let myself return his tentative smile and leaned forwards, closing the couple of inches between us, our foreheads pressing against each other. Eyes closed, breathing deeply, I could probably have stayed like that forever.

I wish that I could have.

It happened too quickly. Maybe we were stupid to have been so obvious, but I honestly don’t think I couldn’t have been that close to him whilst we were alone together like that. It took just two seconds for the hatch to fly open and the first four crew members to jump down, yelling about the bitter cold and stopping mid-sentence when they took in our entwined fingers.

The rest of the crew were there in seconds, and then there was uproar. I remember looking at Sebastian, the feeling of overwhelming dread, and then pain. Lots of pain. I remember Morgan – his glistening, red, angry face as he ripped Seb away from me.

Shrieks of ‘dirty sodders’ and ‘pansy ass fuckers' were screamed all around me, ripping through my eardrums so violently it hurt.

Being hauled up onto the slippery deck as the rain cascaded down I could handle. Seeing Sebastian be dragged through the hatch by his underarms while he shrieked in pain, I couldn’t.

I could deal with Morgan ripping my shirt off and shoving me face down onto the hard, wooden floor, but when I glanced over at Seb, his arm twisted wrongly behind him, a burly crew member’s knee in the small of his back, I thrashed and struggled, desperate to stop them.

Like he hadn’t been through enough.

The rain never stopped. The ‘ominous weather’ had morphed into a full blown storm, drowning out the sound of the whip as it cracked down mercilessly on our bare skin, sparks of rainwater flying off like gleaming bullets. I screwed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to see the pain in Seb’s pure blue eyes.

At least the captain probably wouldn’t hear the commotion.

_Think of our island, Seb. We’ll go there. Far away._

**6 th November 1781**

 

It’s quietened now. This is the first time I’ve been able to get any peace for a while. They’re determined fuckers, I’ll give them that, now that they’ve caught the scent of something brewing – whatever the hell it is – between me and Seb… poor Seb. I wish I could talk to him, see if he’s okay. No, I wish I could just hide him away, lock him up in a cupboard somewhere safe from everything and just take everything they throw at us on myself.

That’s the thing I can’t bear – seeing his terrified little eyes, hearing him cry out in pain… Those bastards. We’re gonna get out of here, me and Seb. I’ll take him away from this shitty place that he’s so much better than anyway. We’re gonna get to our island. Him and me.

**7 th November 1781**

 

Well, it’s starting. I’ve seen it before, so I know how it goes. Hell, I’ve even been egged on to do some things I regret myself when I was drunk enough. Marrows was the last one, I think. He was a right dopey thing, always screwing up – took him half an hour to understand the simplest instruction. Whoever told him to climb on board a ship like this I’ve no idea, but anyway, it gave the boys a lovely little plaything for a few weeks. Ugh, it was sickening the way they treated the poor sod, thought they could get away with anything cause he wouldn’t think to tell anyone, and they were right. Eventually he was thrown overboard after he failed to spot an oncoming ship that fired a canon right into the lower deck.

This morning at breakfast mine and Sebastian’s mugs were filled with seawater. I spat it out everywhere, trying not to look over at Seb as he spluttered down the table, and was gonna let them have it - I may be reclusive sort of guy, but the crew know I'm not to be messed with. But one glance at Morgan’s hate-filled face and I knew if I said a word I’d be for it. Morgan could tell the Captain I’m a fucking killer squid in disguise and he’d throw me straight overboard, no questions asked. Snivelling suck up.  
Of course the same treatment was given to my flask, and after taking a much needed swig I was forced to spew my salty, reeking guts up over the deck I’d just mopped. Unfortunately, Smith saw that time, and wasted no time in hauling me up by ring in my ear – ripping it nicely – and throwing me face down into the mess I’d just created, yelling at me to stay put until it was spotless.

If you’re wondering why I don’t sound too cut up about the whole horrifying ordeal, it isn’t cause I’m not filled with horror and fear over the thought of becoming the next Marrows (it starts small, seawater instead of drinking water, a pile of tatters where your shirts once hung, and escalates into full-blown torture). It’s because after I’d scrubbed until my knuckles cracked and bled, it was dark and raining and everyone went down below deck. Everyone except one person.

When I saw that Seb had stayed I was tempted to run a mile, maybe spare us what I could sense was an oncoming storm of utter shit. Apparently I’m weak when it comes to him however, because all it took was him kneeling down beside me and lifting my chin up with his hand for me to fall into his waiting arms. Collapsing onto him probably wasn’t the best idea in hindsight, considering his size, but on the other hand you might say it was the best idea I ever had. I ended up kind of sprawled on top of him, trying to hold myself over him while my hands slipped uselessly on the rain-slicked wood of the deck. He was laughing under me, and a sudden flash of lightning above us illuminated his face, glinting off of his sparkling eyes and teeth.

It didn’t feel terrible and wrong to lean down and claim his mouth again after that. It felt impossible not to. He was mine, I was so sure of it in that moment, that he wanted nothing more than to be mine, my boy, to be kissed into the ground as the rain pelted down on us. The heat of his face under my furious lips felt like blades of pure pleasure slicing the cold night air.  
His body moved under me, and I sank down lower, desperate for more, moving my lips to his cheek, pressing soft fervent kisses along his jaw and then lower, down his neck as he arched back a little, unable to stop myself from sucking at his salty skin, tasting of rain, and sea and light.

His arms came up around my waist, making me jump a little at the unexpected touch. He pulled me further onto him, angling our hips together so I could feel his want, his need pressing against my thigh. Running his nimble fingers across the soaked shirt covering my back, I thought I heard him moan a little and I moved back up to bite his lip and quiet him.

He leaned forwards eagerly at the touch of my drenched lips, catching them between his own and drawing them open gently so he could slide his tongue inside. It should be strange, I kept telling myself as I let him explore my mouth from below me, wanting another man this much, it should be confusing, but it wasn’t. I wasn’t imagining he was some tarted up whore stuffed into a dress as I ran my hand down his waist and over his thigh, I was thinking only of him, my beautiful Sebastian, who had gone through too much, and how I wanted to take all the pain away.

I slid my hand up and over the bulge in his trousers, and pressed hard, feeling a shudder run through me as he bucked into my touch, moaning loudly.

“Shh. Sebby, shh.”

He whimpered but moved his hand from my waist to bite down on it as I continued, slowly rubbing him through the sodden fabric. I moved my hand away momentarily and he let out a strangled sound I couldn’t help smiling at a little. Before I could react, he had suddenly used his legs to manoeuvre me to the ground, and he rolled on top of me, smiling. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my lips, distracting me from the hand that snaked its way down my front, over my crotch, rubbing me fiercely, making me cry out. Sebby was more prepared though, and he clamped a hand down upon my mouth to stop the noise from escaping. I didn’t even know if they would be able to hear us if we did make a sound, the storm was loud and heavy enough that you’d only come up here if you were desperate. And we were desperate.

I couldn’t stand it any longer, I had to have him, every bit. I sat up so he was straddling my lap and kissed him again, messy and uncaring, our lips crashing together like the waves on the ocean around us. I wasted no time in unbuckling his belt with my fumbling fingers, slightly numb from the cold. He realised what I was doing and moaned again, but quietly, and into my mouth, so I figured it was safe. Breaking away from the kiss for a moment I breathed on my hand quickly, and then plunged it into his trousers, grabbing his waist when he arched violently backwards at the first touch of my cold hand against his sensitive flesh. I pulled him up a bit by the waist until he was kneeling, and tugged his trousers down a little way, freeing him from the rain soaked material at last. He was as beautiful here as anywhere else, and I felt a little tingle of anticipation run through me at the sight of his member, erect for only me, glistening and flushed even in the freezing cold. I grasped hold of it at the base and squeezed, the rain providing the perfect lubrication as a slowly stroked him up and down, staring straight up at his enraptured face, relishing every bite of his lips, every breathy gasp, every close of his eyes when it started to overwhelm him, and then he was gripping my shoulder hard with his fingers and thrusting his hips forwards into my hand. With a shudder and a cry he obviously tried and failed to hold back, he came, spilling hot onto my still pumping hand, the rainwater washing it off in seconds.

He slumped down over me, breathing heavily into my shoulder. I carefully moved my hand away and encircled him in my arms, wrapping him up and pulling him closer. He stayed like that for a few moments, and then I felt him kiss me where his lips met the skin of my shoulder. He began peppering me with kisses, moving up my neck right up to that sensitive spot where the jaw meets the earlobe and laving at it with his tongue.  
  
I started to protest, to push him gently back but he was on top of me, sitting on my lap, and he pushed me down with a strength that seemed implausible for someone his size. He grinned at my mildly stunned expression and leaned down over me again, placing more kisses, this time on my collarbone. He ran his hands up the inside of my shirt, which was fucking  _freezing_ but also incredible beyond words. He lifted my shirt right up so it was bunched underneath my arms and kissed his way down my exposed chest, stroking the flesh with his icy hands and feeling it tremble from the cold. Each press of his lips was like an electric shock, as if that lightning was inside him.  
He got down to my navel and started unbuckling my belt, and I tried to sit up so I could stop him, do anything, but he pushed me back. I felt weak, helpless, but also filled with a crazed, needy  _want_ as I hit the floor, looking up into the heavens and literally seeing stars. The first touch of those fucking electrifying lips against my cock was almost enough to send me over the edge right there. I spasmed beneath him and felt him chuckle a bit, but I didn’t have time to scold him because without any sort of warning, he drew my entire length into his warm, wet mouth, sucking and sliding up and down. I writhed and bit my fist in an attempt not to scream and it was over in moments, me spilling thickly into his mouth. I tried to move but he clamped on, swallowing it all down, not leaving a trace.

“Fuckin’ hell.” I breathed after a few minutes trying to recover, still sprawled on my back, my shirt rumpled and pushed up, still fully on display. Seb crawled up beside me and lay with his head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around him, pulling him closer to me. My mind was reeling from the intensity, but I knew that I couldn't let him go.

“That was worth it.” He murmured, quietly enough that I wasn’t sure I was supposed to have heard. I knew what he meant of course, but he was wrong. Nothing is worth him getting hurt over. Not even something as perfect and fucking mind-blowing as what just happened. I said nothing and turned slightly to kiss his forehead.

“My boy.” I murmured against his hair.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew of The Scarlet Dagger are brutal at their kindest.

**7 th November 1781**  
  
I woke up this morning in my bunk with a splitting headache, a back split and sore from the whipping two nights ago, and the dopiest grin on my face from the memory of spending most of last night on a fucking freezing deck with Sebastian in my arms. A week ago, maybe more, I’d have punched anyone who looked like me right now, socked them in the jaw for being such a pansy, but jesus, that kid… it’s like he’s squirmed under my skin. Nesting in my very soul.  
  
Course there’s the minor issue of the rest of the crew being still fucking pissed off, glaring at us both all the way through breakfast like they’re waiting for the next opportunity for murder. It’s more than a minor issue actually. I’m scared. Screw that, I’m terrified.  
Not for me, for Seb. The way they look at him, it’s like they’re going to enjoy ripping his lungs out. I can’t stand it, because I’ve seen this shit before, I know the kinds of things they do to guys like us, and even if they’re daft enough to believe the sight of us holdin’ hands was just a one off, a single word from Morgan is all it takes and we’re toast.  
I kept to one end of the deck, furthest point from Seb as I could get today. I barely even looked over at ‘im cos I know everyone’s watching us, just waiting for us to slip up so they can wreak havoc. Not happening. I won’t let them hurt him. Don’t mind us boys, we’re just scrubbing the deck, that’s what we’re here to do.  
  
 **8 th November 1781**  
  
I’m writing this from the floor of the crew’s quarters as somehow, mysteriously, mine and Seb’s hammocks are soaked in piss. Strange isn’t it, that whoever did it chose our two hammocks to defile, out of everyone’s? And even stranger that now I have a bruise on my left cheek from where Morgan subtly reminded me that he doesn’t tolerate ‘pansies’ aboard the Dagger.  
I’ve got another, one more bruise on my chin cause he was about to go for Seb too I saw, and I grabbed hold of his arm, shook my head and glared. “Take your best shot at me you coward, but don’t lay a finger on ‘im.” I hissed, quiet enough that only Morgan would hear me. He narrowed his eyes to slits, and threw his fist at me so hard I swear I heard the bones in my face rattling.  
  
Worth it though; better to have a purpling bruise ruining my old mug than Sebastian’s. Anyway, yeah, Morgan’s obviously rallied the crew, told em the game is on in regards to me and Sebby. It’s fuckin terrible cause it means we absolutely can’t stay here me and him, not if we have any hope of surviving, but to be honest, my hopes for that are slim. Maybe for him though, I can probably get him to shore.  
He doesn’t need to have this kind of life, not at his age. He can do something, get a job, find a pretty girl and marry her, fuck I dunno, have a bunch of squawking babies if he wants. I’m for it though. It's the locker for me. I can tell by the look in Morgan’s eyes.  
  
Fuck’s sake, my hammock reeks of piss I can smell it from here; surely the rest of them can smell it too, how can they sleep?  
Sebastian’s not on the floor with me unfortunately, and that’s the one good thing I thought I might get out of this shitty situation. I get no sleep, on the cold, damp, hard floor while the rest of the crew snore soundly, and Seb’s not even with me.  
Smith wandered in just after we discovered our soaking sleeping quarters – I was kicking off obviously, demanding to know who did it, and Smith just growled at me to shut it, ordered me to sleep on the floor for bein a baby about it, and dragged Seb off by his ear to sleep top to tail in his marginally bigger bunk. Poor kid, can’t think of anything worse than havin’ Smith’s toxic, bared feet right next to your face as you try to drift off.  
Something got me about that though… Smith wouldn’t do that usually I don’t think. Not that he’s ever had to before; the crew are usually much more discreet about their torture, or else Smith turns a blind eye. But seriously, there’s no way in hell I’d ever be invited to sleep top to tail with Smith, no matter how sorry he felt for me. I dunno, somethin’ about it’s makin me twitchy.  
I almost wanna go check on Sebby, see if he’s alright, cause he’s out of view from here. But I won’t. I can't risk it.  
  
 **9 th November 1781**  
  
I overslept today, and nobody woke me up. It’s a miracle I got to sleep at all, bent crooked, sitting against the wall on the floor like that while my hammock dries of piss. But I did obviously, and I slept past the bell, maybe thanks to the blanket someone had draped over my ears. Treacherous bastards.  
It wouldn’t have mattered so much, nobody probably would have even noticed save for the crew who might have jeered a bit, but I looked over at Smith’s bunk, saw a few drops of blood on the sheets, and ran like hell.  
He was nowhere to be seen of course on deck, was Seb, and me being the blithering moron that I am, called out for him, desperate and frantic, half crazy with fear I swear cause if he said one thing Smith or Morgan didn’t like, he could be overboard by now, and I’d never fuckin see him again.  
That’s the stuff of nightmares that.  
The crew shouted a load of insults when I called his name, two of them coming up behind me to shove me forwards, send me sprawling across the deck, and when I looked up, I saw Morgan with some others by the prow, an evil smirk twisting his scarred lips.  
  
“MORGAN!” I yelled, scrambling up so fast I tripped a little as I ran towards him.  
  
He turned, snarling as he saw me, starting to brace himself for a fight but I hurtled right into him, knocking him backwards so he stumbled, pushing him clear out of the way so I could see what they were all huddled around.  
It was Seb, of course it was, and thank god because he was alive, praise whatever lurks in the sky, he was alive. But they had him dangled over the edge of the boat, held by one measly ankle, the other leg flailing wildly as he screamed at the churning ocean below.  
I grabbed hold of his other leg, wrapping my hands around his shin, which was bared thanks to his trouser leg being rucked up to his knee. He choked out a sob when he saw me, even from upside down, and I pulled hard, grunting with effort, elbowing the other crew out of the way as I hauled him to safety – honestly, I didn’t know I had that much strength.  
  
Only when he had two feet back on solid wooden decking did I allow myself to breathe. I yanked him forwards into my arms, crushing him against me, whispering soothing things into his hair as he sobbed – basically I completely forgot we weren’t alone.  
I felt him torn away from me before I could even look at his face properly, and then we were both being restrained, held by the arms by people I once called my friends.  
“You rotten, filthy  _scum._ ” Morgan yelled at me, getting so close to my face I could feel the spit flying from his tongue. “Have you forgotten your place on this ship you piece of shit?!”  
I held firm, my mouth a thin line as I stared back levelly at him. How I despised him in that moment. What had Seb even done to deserve this? Held my hand once and got caught?  
  
My gaze flicked to Seb out of habit, or more likely out of latent desire that was deciding to make itself known at the worst possible time - I had to check him over with my eyes, see that he was alright. I barely registered anything past the blood pouring from his nose, trickling in two streams over his lips, and those pained, fearful blue eyes.  
  
“Y'know what Morgan?” I asked, barely registering that my own lips were forming the scathing words. “Go  _fuck_  yourself. I get that you get your kicks from pretending you hold all the cards, but aside from Captain and Smith likin' you cause you’re a filthy snitch, you’re just the same as any of us ‘dogs’.” Morgan looked ready to combust, his face was so red I was considering squeezing it to get the pus out, but I was enjoying this, in a sick way, though I knew what had to be coming. I jerked forward sharply, pulling one arm free of the guy holding me before he could react, and I grabbed Morgan’s shirt with my fist, gripping tight. “And I  _told_  you to stay away from him.”  
  
I don’t want to brag, but I sounded pretty fuckin' intimidating in that moment, I did. I gave myself chills, and let me tell you – Morgan may play the big bad wolf, but he’s a fucking cissy, ask anyone. The only reason the rest of the crew follow his orders is cause they worry he’ll snitch on you if you don’t, which he definitely will. I had Morgan by the scruff, pulled in close as I glared, my warning about Seb still hanging in the sliver of space between us. And he was petrified of me, I know he was.  
It’s too fucking bad that right then, everything shattered. He had to choose that moment to grow some goddamn brain cells didn't he, eh? His lips twitched, eyes narrowing infinitesimally. Then, ever so slow, a smirk spread across his face, cruel and twisted, just like him, revealing his inner epiphany. And fuck was it an epiphany on his part. For me, it was just another storm of shit.  
  
 **13 th November 1781**  
  
Everything’s sore, and everything stinks of piss and whiskey. They must have dunked my clothes in the latrine, cause they’re damp and smell foul, but I hardly care right now because I’m just aching. This is the third night in a row that they’ve done it, all of them, together, taking turns on me. After that one stupid goddamn time, when I threatened Morgan after he told the crew to hold Seb over the edge of the boat like that, he’s known. He’s known that what me and Seb has isn’t just a buddy-fucking thing for convenience. He saw it in the fierce way I protected the kid from harm, looked in my eyes and just  _knew_ that I would do anything to keep him from getting hurt.  
  
I mean literally anything.  
  
So it’s been every night now, and jesus fuck, I never realised how brutal men are, how crazed and abusive when it comes to getting their needs met. Sure if it’s two guys showing affection, and they’re alone, then damn them to hell, heck, chase em down to the pit scythes raised, but if you’re being egged on by your friends and you’re rough and quick about it – it’s not gay, right?  
  
I made a deal with Morgan that night, after he ordered his pals to let Seb go, and I held my boy's gaze for as long as I could while he limped away, tears staining his face. I tried to be tough about it, but Morgan had me by the short hairs, he knew my weakness – knew it was a 5”9 scrawny teenager with cobalt eyes the size of the fucking medallion around the Captain’s neck.  
The deal’s pretty much this: the crew know about me and him, so if I don’t want Morgan to tell Smith or the Captain, I gotta let them do whatever they want to me. In return, they’ll leave Seb out of it, mostly.  
We shook on it and everything, and to be honest I was pretty fucking happy with it at the time – Sebby gets off scot free and in my books that’s a win. We’ve been at sea for fucking yonks, we’re bound to find some land soon, and then Seb can sneak off, start a new life on land. I’ll probably be long gone by then, but at least I can be a nice distraction for a few days; the crew really might leave Seb alone for a bit, focus on me.  
  
But their fucking filthy hands, clawing at my bared flesh, ripping my clothes, yanking my pants down as they send me sprawling on the deck, jeering. They spit at me, pinch and hit, carve marks with their knives if they're feeling particularly sadistic. They don’t bother with anything to slick the way, all they care about is the fact they’ve got someone to abuse, someone they can get something out of at the same time.  
I clench my teeth against the burn, think of Seb, asleep in his bunk, none the wiser, and imagine that one day we’ll go far away.  
  
I've come to accept that it's just a dream though. I'm not stupid.  
  
 **14 th November 1781**  
  
We were shot at today, or rather the Dagger was. I don’t necessarily consider myself a part of this ship anymore. There was an enemy ship, smaller than us but still a threat, gaining on us suddenly from the East, at around 4pm. Seb saw it first, swore blind he could see a shape emerging from the thick mist clinging to the water’s surface, and we all peered out, but could see fuck all.  
Smith looked for two minutes and then slapped Seb straight round the face, telling him to watch his filthy lying whore mouth, and I almost jumped him, I really did, bruises, whiplash and all, but then Scully saw it too, the sails like billowing flames rising up from the sea as it moved towards us, and we all panicked.  
  
Two seconds later, the first canon splintered the side of the boat. The crew sprang into action, most of them too stupid or too new to the crew to know how to react, so they looked to me and Morgan for orders, and of course Morgan had no fucking clue. Smith started yelling things at them, pushed one guy, Falmer I think his name was, straight off the side of the boat for standing idle, and soon everyone was running, loading the canons and climbing the ropes into the rigging in a vain attempt to change course.  
I was about to clamber up there myself, my heart beating quick because we could literally die right now; that boat was smaller, but it was fast, and had a good aim. I had one hand on the rope when two things happened simultaneously: the captain burst out of his almost-permanently closed door, his face murderous, barely visible through the thick wiry beard hos features peer through, as he took in the chaos of the crew screaming and hurtling about below him. He opened his mouth to scream something, probably an order of some kind thank god, and at that moment I felt someone locking their hand around mine, tight enough that my fingers bunched together, and I turned to look straight into paralyzing blue eyes.  
  
“We haven’t got long.”  
  
I didn’t even think about it, I just followed him straight away, him pulling me through swarms of frantic crew members that didn’t even glance at us as we passed by. It’s terrible really, that I abandoned my crew in their hour of need to follow Seb back down to the sleeping quarters in the vain hope of spending a few moments alone with him. But they had the captain now, he’d guide them, and maybe we’d sink, maybe we’d survive – as long as I was in Seb’s arms, I remember thinking, did it really matter?  
  
He pushed me down on Smith’s bunk, catching me off guard so I stumbled, sprawling flat on my back. It was only then, looking up at him, strangely skeletal and gaunt in the half-light of the downstairs of the ship, that I realised he was crying.  
  
I sat up a bit, reaching for him, and he grasped my hand at once, but didn’t come any closer. “Hey, hey what’s wrong?” I asked weakly, though I immediately felt ridiculous. I realised I hadn’t actually spoken to him in days, at least not out loud. Silent smiles, touches if we were lucky. That’s all we could afford in the in-between stages. This wasn’t an in between stage though, this is what made all the other stuff barely tolerable. And I go and ask him what’s wrong? As if I don’t know the fucking answer. “Please come here. You’re so far away, Sebby.”  
  
I think I might have meant it as a joke, but it certainly didn’t come across as one. Seb just sniffed loudly and crawled on top of me, his muddy boots smearing wet dirt all over Smith’s bunk, though neither of us cared. He lay on top of me, smothering me half to death with his head on my chest, moving around until he could hear my heart thrumming through my ribcage.  
  
I only know because he started to tap out the rhythm, softly, with delicate fingers against my arm.  
  
I threaded my hands into his hair and listened to the responding sigh, smiling because I’d been waiting for it. I wanted to hear it again, so I could savour it, it’s all I’d been thinking about.  
  
“I know what you’re doing.” Seb whispered, so quietly I struggled to hear him over the hubbub above us, and my hands froze in place in his curls. “What they’re doing to you.” He explained, speaking into my shoulder practically.  
  
I sighed, long and loud, because that’s the thing I feared most, but yeah, it’d probably been a stupid daydream to think he wouldn’t find out I’m being gang raped every night. I just hoped to God he’d never seen it happen.  
  
“Sebby… if I can just get them to leave you alone for a few more days,” I started to explain, hating that when he jerked his head up to meet my gaze, his eyes were brimming with unshed tears, “the Dagger will dock, there’ll be land, people, you can get off, start over-”  
  
“I don’t want to start over without you!”  
  
My heart skipped a beat. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I touched my forehead to his, kissing the tears as they fell from his eyes.  
  
“Seb..." I sighed, closing my eyes against the world, but opening them again quickly because what was I doing? I have to savour every moment with him. "...you and I, I think maybe we’re cut out for a different lifetime. Not this one.” I let out a dark chuckle. Definitely not this one.  
  
A hard shove slammed into my shoulders and I gasped in pain, the bruises from the past few nights making themselves known. Seb immediately stroked where he’d just shoved, but his furious gaze didn’t lessen in ferocity. “No! You said, you  _told_ me I could come with you! That we’d go somewhere, a-an island… somewhere far away!”  
  
He sounded like a little kid, and it was heartbreaking, because he is really, he’s all innocence, youth and sunshine smiles with a cheeky glint in his doe-eyes, but he doesn’t see it. He doesn’t see that we’re travelling towards disaster and there’s no way we’re getting blown off course.  
How can I break it to him? How can I tell him he’s going to have everything ripped away from him yet again? “I-I know-”  
  
“ _No,_ don’t do that, I can see what you’re thinking! You’ve already given up haven’t you? You signed away your life in exchange for mine, right? It’s not fuckin’ happening, we’re getting off this boat together, you’ll see!” The kid’s full on crying now, his cheeks red and eyes streaming, but still he ploughed on, his hands gripping my skin so hard his nails were puncturing the flesh. “I’ll go up on deck in the morning and it’ll be ‘Land Ahoy! Land Ahoy!’-”  
  
I quietly placed my hand over Seb’s mouth, smiling faintly at him, my other hand still tangled in his soft brown hair. He sobbed quietly into my palm, crying himself out, and if I shed some tears too, nobody except him was there to see.  
Once he was a little quieter, and his dramatic sobs had turned to soft sniffles, I tilted his chin up with my fingers, pressing a kiss to his salty, tear-slicked lips. He smiled a little, so it was almost worth it. “You’re my land ahoy.” I murmured, our faces close, and I felt pretty stupid I’ve gotta say, but Seb squeezed his eyes shut like he was holding onto it forever, so I barely minded.  
  
We lay that way for a long time, I didn’t even mind that it got kind of difficult to breathe with him on my chest like that; it took the focus off other aches and pains anyway. Every few minutes or so he’d jump a little in my arms, look up at me and kiss me soundly, as if he’d just remembered I was there, and that he could do that, at least for now.  
As for me, I lay there, beneath him, wishing I could love him the way he deserved, the way I ached to, more fervently than any other ache in my body. But there were too many things against us, and God knows I hadn’t felt this ashamed of my body since I was a gawky prepubescent, what with the litany of scars and bruises I was riddled with now. No way was I in any shape to make love to him now, and it killed me because who knows how much time we have ahead of us? If we'll even get to be alone like that ever again?  
  
Things were quieting down above us, and I knew we’d have to move soon, we couldn’t risk them knowing we’d snuck off together, so I moved my lips to Seb’s ear.  
  
“Sebastian, I’d run away with you if I could. If there was a way for us both to be safe, I’d do it so fast your head would spin. You know that, right?”  
  
Sebby was pretty docile and unresponsive by this point – all bad signs, indicating he’s thinking of sleep, and we can't let that happen, not when they could find us – but I thought I felt him smile at that. I do remember his muttered response though, quiet and half-slurred against my skin.  
  
“You know, we deserve much better than we’ve had.”


End file.
